106 I.! 1 L L...A, .li.N .".c:::."' . ... ..... -- :=- I/.it! T] ,ltH 0' ....... - , - \ ---.- J -.- t- - t ... "" ...... **'t 4 'f .! ,E" 't t 1 \.. t f :if ,>, " "-- 'Q , )', , \\ ..' ,' ..... , ';'-. '"/ -, , \ ' _9,!!r .;, . ". ) \ ...::::'-':' .. . ,, , ," 1rIiiu 'ffiJ. ".. . i< , , I , 1Ø l 'j' I \ ""'('- "'--"" l """ % ,:' " . J ", ;, :: . ,/ $ I< ! åI>, ', \ j'" .. , ^ - < ':, <. í'N : . ' J ,"" "";-< <f ,: I>: :,# ..,",: :"' .,., < d Y:-' ,. , -?- """ "tit <" << _.- "This evening, the role of Bob Novak is being played by my husband, Norman Hatcher. " minicans and Ecuadorians. Robert says that the block looks great to them. "They come from almost nothing, they come to thzs, they want too much too fast and lose control." But he does not really understand why the block, the neighborhood, "the community," still looks good to someone like John. "J ohn' s got this thing," he says. "He likes Raymond, he likes Corey. His best art comes out of that. But I've been through it, I don't want to see it any- more. The neighborhood's tough-it was tough when I grew up-and whether you mess up or not, it's inside your head. My father prefers work, my brother prefers a beer, everybody's different. But you got to hang on to re- ality tight here, never let the bad hap- pen. You see a :&iend turning bad. You see it happening in front of your face, and you use the :&iend as a mirror. You ' I d ' b h . , " say, on t want to e t IS person. Now there are too many people on the block that Robert doesn't want to be. He wants to be himself He loves "the work of making art." He talks about the "amazing materials"-the plaster, the . . burlap, the Jeltrate and the K-Y Jelly and the Johnson & Johnson fast-setting bandages, and even the wires and screws-the way John talks about the "deep wells" of Bashira's eyes. He says that when he met John he knew imme- diately that John was doing exactly what Uncle Raul was doing, that John's casts were going to be the images that meant something, the images that people wanted to live with, and even needed to live. He talks a lot now about having a factory of his own, full of people "work- ing together, making art." "I'm used to the Bronx-l know how the Bronx be- haves-but right here 1 don't know who I am. I've been working behind John so long I didn't even see what other people"-the people who didn't like the bronzes-" saw. I only saw how we felt about art, and people. Maybe John thinks 1 should have seen, should have warned him. 1 heard, at the site, 'We don't look like that!' and Who's this drug dealer?' and Who's this fat guy, blasting sound real loud?' But all 1 saw was Raymond and Corey, and I thought, The neighborhood knows THE NEW YORKER, DECEMBER 21, 1992 . ;.;o .. these guys. The neigh- borhood knows that a drug dealer can be any- one-a sixty-year-old lady, a fourteen-year-old girl. " When Robert moved, he didn't give anyone his address-just "the Bronx." He dropped out of circulation. He bought himself a portable phone. When John wants Rob- ert now, he calls and makes an appointment, or he waits for Robert to appear at the studio, which Robert does near- ly every day. All John knows about Robert's "other life" is that he lives with a woman, and that they have a baby, and all Robert says about that life is that they belong to tU '4 " +: him. He means not to the block, not to the neigh- borhood, and not to John. Robert has disap- peared before. He spent two years, all told, in Puerto Rico. He moved from village to village, casting the people he met, and he made a beautiful statue of the singer Ruth Fernandez. "It's not how long you go for," he likes to say. "1 t' s the not telling people where you are, or when you're coming back." Robert wanted to prove that he could make it alone, without John, without the block, wIthout the Brooke Alex- ander gallery. And since then he has al- ways felt "a little strange" on Walton Avenue-as if Walton Avenue weren't his block anymore, as if their studio were "John's place. " John still pays for the studio, and every month he pays Robert for his help. It is not an arrange- ment that Robert likes. When the in- come-tax people ask What exactly do you do?" and Robert says he's an artist, they tell him "Robert, you cannot be an artist. Where are your sales? Where are your receipts?" Robert does not think "white" and " bl k " " d " d " " ac, owntown an uptown, " An 1 " d " H . ." H h d g 0 an IspaniC. e a never heard of political correctness or role models or positive images before the bronzes. He had never even considered ; !il